


Bench

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 17:04:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21201101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Meludir has the best seat in the house.





	Bench

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Thranduil is, by far and without question, the most handsome elf in all the Woodland Realm, possibly the world. He’s breathtaking in any light, any situation, and any state of dress or undress. Meludir particularly likes to see him in his throne, silhouetted by the enormous antlers built into the scenery, which only add to his grandeur. Even more so, Meludir likes to _feel_ him in his throne.

Meludir can think of no seat better than his king’s lap, and he’s always honoured when he’s invited to sit there. He lounges sidesaddle across Thranduil’s strong thighs, his own delicate legs crossed at the knees, his rounded shoulder resting against Thranduil’s broad chest. Occasionally, Thranduil’s skilled fingers traipse through his hair, and then Meludir will gasp or mewl and lean into the touch, always eager for any attention or affection his lord should deem to show him. Wine is often brought to Thranduil, who sips it slowly and sometimes lifts the glass to Meludir’s waiting lips. Advisors and attendants come and go, mostly without paying Meludir any mind, but sometimes Thranduil playfully requests his opinion, and Meludir is always too drunk on adoration to answer properly. This seems to amuse his king, who scratches beneath his chin and praises him like some sort of pretty pet. Meludir becomes ever more enraptured as the day crawls by. He practically purrs into Thranduil’s throat and hopes the moment never ends. 

By the time that another Elven lord reaches the throne, Meludir is thoroughly ready to progress, and it takes every bit of will power that he has to keep from kissing Thranduil’s perfect body. His hands itch to trace Thranduil’s exquisite figure, his lips dying to taste Thranduil’s flawless skin. He squirms in Thranduil’s lap, mellow but thirsty for things other than wine. Thranduil idly pets him and greets, “Lord Elrond. Welcome to my halls.” 

Meludir sees shallowly Elrond bow in his peripherals. Thranduil dips his head with the same respect. Elrond answers, “Thank you. It is good to see you again, but you know I do not come merely for a visit. We have much to discuss.”

Thranduil waves his hands dismissively, as though to say that whatever it is can be said before his guards and playthings. Elrond tightly stresses, “_Important_ matters, which would be best held in private.”

Meludir giggles drunkenly, because it makes him think of being _in private_ chambers with his king, and he can’t wait to see Thranduil’s _privates_ again. He murmurs a slurred apology for his outburst and buries his face in the crux of Thranduil’s neck to try and keep from speaking out of turn again. Thranduil’s thin smile weighs in his mind. One hand strokes down his back, making him squirm.

Thranduil replies, “It is growing late for such discussions. I would hold my council tomorrow afternoon. Tonight, I invite you to our feast.”

Meludir sighs wistfully. He would’ve prefer to drag Thranduil right back to the bedroom, but he could stay for food, so long as he’s still allowed to sit in Thranduil’s lap. But he wants to turn and press his body fully against Thranduil’s, throwing his legs open and sidling right up to Thranduil’s waist, _feeling_ him in all the right places. Meludir can hear the disapproval thick in Elrond’s voice.

“If we must wait, we shall, but no later. My people are tired from our journey. I thank you for the hospitality, but I believe we will retire now.”

“So be it,” Thranduil answers. He gives a slight shrug of his shoulders, as though he couldn’t care less. Then Meludir hears soft footsteps retreating and knows that Elrond’s business has swiftly concluded. 

A long finger curls beneath his chin. Meludir’s face is lifted for a chaste kiss, and then Thranduil purrs across his lips, “What a dull creature. Could you imagine serving in his dreary kingdom?”

“No,” Meludir breathes, “I could not serve anyone but you.”

Thranduil hums with approval, and Meludir’s rewarded with a proper kiss.


End file.
